


A Desperate Bid

by PowerBottomJoker (Chiburui)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Batman loves to strangle, Blood and Violence, Bruce Wayne: Clownfucker, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Desperation, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Joker loves to BE strangled, M/M, Mental Instability, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Morally Ambiguous Character, No Safeword, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Praise Kink, Unhealthy Relationships, Why Fuck IN the Batmobile when you can Fuck ON the Batmobile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiburui/pseuds/PowerBottomJoker
Summary: When Joker reveals his feelings for Batman, things go slightly awry.Can Batman handle this new relationship? More importantly, Can Joker handle the Batman?
Relationships: Batman/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 31
Kudos: 208





	A Desperate Bid

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! This isn't set in any specific comics canon, but things might change as the story progresses.
> 
> I've tried to include as many relevant tags as I could think of, so please heed both the tags and the warnings, and avoid this fic if you think it will cause you distress. 
> 
> I've tried to keep them in character, but as they're amalgamations of a huge number of stories, headcanons and references, my idea of "In character" and yours might differ considerably. 
> 
> As usual, comments, discussion and feedback is hugely appreciated. If you like this and want to join me in screaming into the void about Batjokes, you can find me @PowrBottomJoker on Twitter. Love to hear from you all!

Bruce sighs. He knows by now to expect nights like this, but he'd have appreciated a few more hours of quiet solitude before his comm buzzes to life, filling his tired brain with all the information he'll need to complete his mission for the evening.

The Joker has escaped from Arkham.  _ Again _ .

He huffs, frustrated and perturbed. They might as well put revolving doors on the place for all the effort they put into keeping Joker there. 

Joker had begun taking his little day trips with increasing frequency, and it was putting extra pressure on Bruce and his resources just to keep the clown locked up where he belonged. Arkham's wide-scale negligence was, frankly speaking, unacceptable; causing danger to the city, the asylum's staff, and the patients. Bruce was seriously considering throwing the Wayne name (and cashflow) around a bit to get himself onto Arkham's board of directors and ensure whatever it was they were doing (or, more likely, not doing) to allow Joker's many dramatic escapes was put to a hard stop. 

He has far more important things to deal with in his city. And yet he finds himself, more often than not, playing catch-up as he devotes his time to indulging Joker’s little games whenever he sees fit to escape. The criminal underbelly seems to have caught on as well, using the time to grow their operations as quickly as possible before Batman inevitably swoops in and disrupts their schemes.

Cut off one head, however, and two seem to grow in its place.

He’s so tired.

Joker's escape today had ended the lives of three Arkham staff members, with what appeared to be increasing levels of ferocity. The final victim was reported to have choked to death on his own two fists, severed from his arms and shoved so far into his mouth his jaw had broken. Joker hadn't  _ yet _ caused any scenes in the rainy streets of Gotham tonight, but that didn't mean he wasn't Batman's top priority; giving him time to roam about only made his schemes bigger, deadlier, and more chaotic. Sometimes they were simply exaggerated pranks, causing nothing but property damage and annoyance, but oftentimes they'd quickly devolve into a surreal killing spree, the humour lost on everyone except the cackling man who'd surely be haunting the nightmares of anyone who survived his self-indulgent fancies.

If his actions to escape tonight were any indication, he seemed to be gearing up for the latter. 

Bruce had asked him, once, why he did what he did, when he'd had him bound and cuffed in the passenger seat of the Batmobile. Joker had been bruised and battered after taking a ferocious beating from him, nursing a broken wrist and a black eye, but he had still giggled as he'd set his piercing green gaze upon Batman, head cocked. The blood and lipstick smeared across his mouth turning into an obscene slash as he'd smiled, all teeth and no humour. 

"Why, I do it all for you, Darling." He'd said, serenely. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Bruce remembered his exact tone of voice- husky and raw, disturbingly similar to a lover inviting one in for drinks with the implication of a night filled with  _ much _ more. His affected Transatlantic accent had always put the pale man somewhere both out of time and geography, and his use of it now —

(those horrible words dripping from him like warm honey)

— reminded Bruce of one of the mysterious femmes fatales in the old film noirs Bruce had grown up watching. And like them, Joker was mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Not to mention a deft hand with a revolver.

Bruce grimaces slightly at the memory. He'd often wondered where Joker's motivations lay in tormenting the city night after night, and for the clown to say he was doing it out of some misguided sense of affection for Batman made him  _ angry _ . Joker had to be mocking him. Bruce's own sense of what love meant left little room for the whims of a murderer.

He  _ had _ to see that... Right?

He sighs again. Trying to figure the other man out — to crack open his skull and lay his psyche out for the world to see — had been attempted by countless psychiatrists before. Some had done it out of financial motivations, hoping to become famous for their findings. Some had done it purely out of a desire to understand. Some had... some had only wanted to help a fellow human being. All had failed spectacularly. Bruce resigned himself to never knowing, or at least never quite understanding. His desire to know the Joker extended only as far as gaining the advantage he needed to keep Gotham safe—

_ BATMAN _ .

— Bruce nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden intrusion into his ruminating as Alfred's clipped voice crackles through the comm set. He acknowledges him briefly before Alfred continues. "The Joker has been spotted heading towards the Narrows on foot. No definite sightings have been put through besides that, but perhaps best to head over and see if you can't route him before he settles into one of the abandoned buildings for the night." 

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce responds, sounding as weary as he feels. He  _ really _ doesn't want to spend the whole evening playing hide and seek with Joker. "I'll head over now. Update as soon as you get further confirmation."

"Yes, sir. Good luck." The comm cuts out, the hum of the Batmobile's engine and the metronome swiping of the windshield wipers Bruce's only company as he heads towards the squalor of the Narrows.

Bruce knows why Joker loves the Narrows so much: it was his personal playground: dangerous, crumbling warehouses, industrial waste, wide-open construction lots strewn with the rubble of demolished buildings, and barely inhabited- except by the kinds of people who knew to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. The chaos the clown could create with the resources in those few acres of land was almost unimaginable.

Except to Joker himself, of course. 

Despite the rain, Bruce deigns to hope that tonight's mission will be over quickly, if not easily.

(It's never easy, where Joker's involved)

If Joker hasn't changed (or stripped, he's certainly done that before), he'd be easily spotted amongst the mud and rubble in his bright orange Arkham uniform. Bruce just has to catch him outside and—

_ There. There he is.  _

Bruce almost can't believe his luck.

It's a long-abandoned construction site, muddy and overgrown with weeds, like the very ground itself is trying to swallow the site whole.

And Joker is standing right in the centre of the maw, as if waiting to be devoured by the great beast.

Bruce flips the comm switch and briefly informs Alfred, as he slows down to a crawl to observe and map where the Joker might run, should he bolt when he notices he's been spotted. 

But Joker doesn't move at all. He's stock-still, face angled towards the sky as the rain showers him, water dripping down his face.

( _ Like tears _ , Bruce thinks, before correcting himself.  _ Like rain _ .)

A placid smile keeps his features softer than his usual wide grin allows. He looked drenched to the bone and Bruce notices after a moment that his shoes are missing. He slowly pulls the Batmobile into the lot, directly in front of Joker, bathing him in the bright blue-white of the headlights.

He doesn't move. He doesn't even seem to notice.

Bruce feels a flicker of concern, before beating it down and replacing it with suspicion. Joker is simply waiting to strike, and is using the moment to pull Batman in. He exits the Batmobile and slowly approaches, on high alert and ready to explode into a fight at any second, heart rate steadily increasing. Joker remains as still as a mannequin.

Barely alive. Barely Human.

Bruce tries not to let the mild stab of guilt (or the sudden image of a screaming man falling away from him as he grasps empty air) distract him.

He takes him in. Joker's hands hang limp at his sides, empty of any weapons, yet no less capable of violence. 

Bruce tries to grab his attention. He growls- "Joker...", voice low and threatening, like thunder rolling in on the horizon. Warning Joker of his presence.

Joker gasps, a slight shiver running up the length of his body. He lowers his head to the side, slowly turning towards Batman with that same placid, off-putting smile fixed firmly in place.

A thought strikes Bruce: He looks... bizarre. Like he's moving in slow motion.

"Hullo, Batsy," he says, as casually as if they'd simply met at a cafe, but he's looking right through him. He gives a slight chuckle. "Funny seeing you here." 

In the glare of the headlights, Bruce notices the bruises splashed across Joker's face, purples and greens and yellows contrasting sharply with his almost stark-white skin. They look to be nearly a week old – too recent for Batman to have given them to him.

Bruce feels an angry surge come over him, the leather of his gauntlets creaking as he balls his hands into tight fists. 

_ Disconcerting _ . 

Why the hell was he angry about someone else beating up Joker? It was bound to happen, the man thrived on driving people to the edge and then pushing just that  _ little bit _ further, laughing all the while, but he still feels a possessive twinge. 

He considers filing it away deep in the "never, ever analyse" part of his brain.

"Who gave those to you?" He asks, nodding towards the other’s face, not dwelling on the feeling. Joker flinches slightly at the sudden noise.

"Ahhh... Apologies, but it's none of your concern, darling." A ghost of a smile flits across his face, far unlike his usual mocking smirk. It looks more like a quirk of muscle memory.

"Joker, you killed three men today." 

"I sure did, Batsy. Got them good, and so  _ very _ dead" Joker stares, unblinking, his voice growing tighter and belying his calm exterior.

He's getting agitated. This could get very sticky.

Bruce steps forward, trying to break the tension and intimidate some sense into him. " _ Why _ , Joker?"

"I've already told you how I feel, dearest Bats. Everything I do, every day... and yet-" He trailed off for a moment, before shaking his head violently, his fingers beginning to twitch. “You… you can't be angry that I got a little  _ action _ -" he spits the word out, his voice rising in pitch slightly as his gaze shifts, focusing enough to drill into Batman, "while you locked me away and refused to even visit. Not even a ‘Get Well Soon’ card? Being so callously abandoned is enough to break anyone’s heart, even–” He trails off and frowns, then whips his head back up, smile firmly back in place. “Some hero you've been, by the way. You really ought to be screening those poor guards. You do know how  _ dangerous _ I can be."

He lets out a quiet giggle, whole body now taught and twitchy, slightly hunching as if he’s trying to fold into himself without actually moving. Bruce looms over him, angry and confused.

"Joker, this is insanity. You can't just murder innocent people because you... what? Want me to come to you and hold your hand when you're bored?"

Joker stares wide-eyed at him for a second, incredulous, and then begins to laugh. It comes from deep in his throat, sounding more like the snarl of an animal than anything resembling mirth. 

"When I’m bored, when I’m scared, when I’m sad… Who cares?! If you won't even  _ listen _ to me, Bats, then what else can I say? I must have simply killed them because I love y—"

He’s cut off by Bruce's fist colliding with his face, sending him sprawling into the mud. Bruce descends on him, both of them flailing in the scummy water, trying to find purchase to gain the upper hand. Bruce easily pins the other man down with a knee ( _ far too easily _ ) and goes to grab his cuffs from his belt when he feels a searing pain in his thigh.

He whips up, growling- a shard of jagged metal is jammed deep in his leg, right between two of the thin kevlar plates. Joker's hand is still wrapped tightly around it, his own palm sliced open and oozing blood over the muddy shard. Joker looks up at Bruce, almost in surprise, before a wide smile slowly grows on his face. He leans forward and rips the shard right back out.

The pain is nearly blinding, wrenching a loud shout from Bruce, who shoves him away roughly. Joker falls back into the water, screaming with laughter. 

"That's  _ ENOUGH!" _

Furious, Bruce lifts his good leg and brings a solid heel crashing down into the cackling man's chest. Imagines himself, for a brief moment, doing nothing more than crushing a cockroach into the mud. It was what he deserved, either way. He can feel a couple of Joker's ribs coming dangerously close to caving, but he can't bring himself to care.

Joker's breath leaves him in a whoosh, and he's gasping and wheezing as Bruce wrests the shard from his hand and tosses it into the tall grass, the steel glinting like eyes in the Batmobile's headlights. He looks like he's seeing stars when Bruce roughly grabs him by the front of his Arkham-issued orange shirt and slams him bodily onto the hood of the Batmobile. He looms large in the harsh silhouette of the headlights as he stares down at his prey, his features a mask of pure rage.

Joker's eyes widen slightly in alarm as they finally focus on him.

_ Good _ , he thinks, with satisfaction.  _ Let him be afraid, for once _ .

He shoots forward, straddling Joker's limp body and ignoring the sag of the Batmobile's hood, and two hard, kevlar covered hands curl around the clown's scrawny throat. Joker barely has a moment to fill his aching lungs before Bruce begins to squeeze.  _ Hard _ . 

He's merely incapacitating him, Bruce assures himself, until he can return him to Arkham, wrapped in a neat little bow. 

Exactly like any other night.

Yet he can't quite shake the sadistic throb in his veins as Joker's acid-green eyes lock onto his, wide and glassy with pain while his breath leaves him in tiny, hitched gasps. He watches with detached fascination the contrast between his black-clad hands and the scarred, unnaturally white fingers, tinged with mud and blood, grasping at his wrists to try and loosen the Bat's grip.

He stares down at the man who has caused so much strife and chaos for him, if he could still be called a man and not merely a monster, as Joker's eyes begin to flicker and lose focus, alternately rolling back and trying to find purchase on Bruce's face, with his own slowly turning a livid purple.

His lips move the entire time in what seems to be a silent mantra.

Bruce leans in slightly to see if he could parse what Joker was saying before he shipped him off to dreamland, when Joker uses the subtle shift in position to grind up into the Bat.

He’s… Hard?

Bruce freezes, looking down as Joker continues to buck up under him, his erection obvious and straining. Understanding dawns on him as he parses Joker's repeated mantra: a silent, breathless plea — _ "Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me." _

_ What? _

"What the  _ Hell _ are you doing?" Bruce hisses, disgusted, into his ear. That alone seems to send him into a state of near-ecstasy, tight expression slackening as his mouth drops open slightly, eyes blindly searching for the sound of the Bat's voice. Bruce gives him just enough air to respond.

"Fuck me... Bats...  _ Please _ ..." Joker gasps between painful-sounding coughs, and the desperation in his voice pierces right into Bruce's chest. Sharper than any knife he'd ever used on him before. 

Bruce can almost  _ feel _ the gears in his mind grinding to a halt as his justice-fuelled bravado deflates, replaced by something disturbing and foreign. He loosens his grip on Joker's throat and watches impassively as the slight man sorts out how to breathe again, wincing as his lungs greedily force him to inhale, disregarding his bruises and cracked ribs. Joker's hand grasps weakly at his throat, already reddening with fresh, angry bruises. He’s staring at the sky, unblinking even in the rain, chest heaving as he slowly returns to reality. His version of it, at any rate.

He casts his heavy-lidded eyes up at the Bat and quirks an eyebrow, silently questioning.

Bruce doesn't move a muscle. They simply stare at one another, trapped in a deadlock.

Joker breaks first.

"...Bats?" he croaks, breaking the spell over Batman.

Who promptly slaps him —  _ hard _ — across the face.

Joker’s head whips to the side and he gives a small yelp, but he doesn’t move beyond that, frozen in naked shock. Bruce watches as unbidden tears well in his left eye, and a small cut appears across his badly bruised cheek where the kevlar had caught his skin.

_ He looks terrible.  _

_ He looks beautiful.  _

Bruce takes Joker's narrow face in both hands and leans in close, mesmerized by what he is witnessing. He can feel the heat rising in his groin, trapped uncomfortably within the barrier of his suit, as he watches goosebumps bloom over the other's cold, milky skin.

_ Always in perfect opposition _ .

"Say it again," Bruce growls, thumbs pressing into the hard planes of his cheekbones, swiping the blood over his face, fingers digging into the taught muscle of a too-skinny neck. Joker shivers under him, eyes huge and round. " _ Beg me _ ,  _ and I might just do it. _ " 

Joker gazes at him, irises contracting into a violently green halo around blown black pupils, shining bright in the gloom. He gives a small whimper and an even smaller nod. He looks, for once, decidedly unsure of himself. Bruce can feel his pulse hammering in his neck. 

"Bats... please, just- Guh—!" There’s a soft cry as Bruce shifts between his legs, and he’s breathing heavily through his nose. "Oh, fuh-!  _ Please _ — I need you to fuck me or I’m gonna... it feels like I'm dying, Bats, I  _ think _ I’m dying but I-! Please, Bats- I need you to win this game we play, kill me, or love me or fuck me _ \- oh, god, I love you- why do I love you?! _ " the question escapes as a sob, nearly hysterical. "I'll do anything! Please I'll do  _ anything I'll do anything pleaseI'lldoany— _ "

His increasingly manic pleas are cut off by another mouth violently crashing into his, the Bat's hands like a vice on either side of his head. Bruce feels the body beneath him stiffen in shock before eagerly responding as best as he can from his trapped position, neck arching into the kiss. 

When Joker begins to moan, though, Bruce rips away from the kiss. Despite finding himself all-too ready and willing to fuck his worst enemy face-first into the mud, it’s the sounds of  _ pleasure _ coming from the other man that are stirring up his distaste and providing a disturbing reminder of who, exactly, it is that he’s grinding into the hood of the Batmobile.

Hearing Joker beg and plead with such conviction, however, gives him an idea- a brilliant, stupid, cruel idea.

(At least it might shut him up)

He glares down at Joker, who looks disappointed and affronted at the loss of contact. 

Slowly, with authority, Bruce initiates. "Fine. You want this so bad? Get on your knees."

The other man lies unmoving for a moment, as if expecting it to be a trick that would earn him another punch to his already battered body, before slowly sliding down the hood of the Batmobile onto his knees, never breaking eye contact with Bruce. He looks uncomfortable, gravel digging into his knees and the bumper digging into his spine.

_ Good. _

Bruce slowly unclips the codpiece of his suit, revealing his near-aching erection. It's hard to stifle his smirk when Joker lets out a quiet gasp and an excited giggle as it bobs in front of his face, not daring to touch it without the Bat's permission. He honestly looks a bit star-struck. 

Before he can stop to think too deeply about it, Bruce decides to accept the ego-boost and indulge his fantasies a bit. He slowly leans over to lay his codpiece on the hood of the Batmobile, purposely pushing forward and rubbing his cock on Joker's face. The pale man lets out a soft whine but makes no move except to close his eyes and try to compose himself. He’s shivering now.

  
  


By the time he opens his eyes again, Bruce is ready. "Have you ever done this before?" He asks.

Despite his precarious position, Joker huffs. Bruce almost smiles. "Don't patronize me, Darling. I've sucked a cock or two before."

He ignores the slight warble in Joker's voice.

Instead, he finds himself a bit horrified when something ugly bubbles up in him at the admission. Jealousy and possessiveness were things he never, ever wanted to admit feeling for the mass-murdering psychopath currently on his knees in front of him. 

Only for him.

_ (And yet.) _

"Have you ever had your throat fucked?" He counters.

Joker looks a bit taken aback. "I… No- I don’t think so," he mumbles, shaking his head, a tinge of blush appearing. Bruce suddenly feels a little weak in the knees to see it.

" _ Do you want to _ ?"

Joker was so desperate he was nearly salivating, he looked like he'd say yes to anything. Bruce finds himself hoping that he would.

He nods slowly, eyes fixed on the straining member in front of him.

" _ Tell _ me you want it, Joker." 

His eyes flicker at the command. He looks like he’s caught between submission and trying to hold himself back from saying something off-colour that might jeopardise his chances. He had always seemed to respond both antagonistically and flirtatiously to Batman using his most authoritative voice, but Bruce is fascinated to see just how much it affects him up close, for once not distracted by trying to beat the man to a pulp- or openly ignoring it. 

"Please, Batsy, baby, darling-" Joker licks some of the blood from his lips, "I want you to fuck me, use me, make me choke and  _ don't stop _ until I'm either dead or you're done with me." He smiles slightly at the last part, as if he’s already imagining it happening.

Jesus, Joker wasn't messing around. Bruce frets a bit. Joker might regret what he had said as soon as he choked the first time and—

"Bats,  _ PLEASE _ …" He’s shivering violently now, erection so hard he’s tenting the heavy wet fabric of his pants. Bruce isn’t sure if it’s from the adrenaline or the cold, or both.

God, if Joker only knew what he was doing to Bruce he'd never let him hear the end of it.

He leans forward, running a gloved hand along Joker's sharp jaw and running his thumb around his scarred, bruise-purple lips- he looks so different without the garish red lipstick slashing across his face. He could almost be confused for handsome.

Mistaken, for a brief moment, for a regular man who hadn't killed dozens of people.

He pushes his thumb, and then two fingers into Joker's mouth as the clown closes his eyes and sighs, sucking on the leather and kevlar like it was candy, despite the mud and blood that’s no doubt still on it. He probes around for a while, sensations dulled through the glove, but feeling the pressure of Joker’s tongue working the leather. He pushes his tongue down a few times, enjoying the slight gagging when he pushes just a touch too deep.

After a few moments of watching Joker eagerly prove his intentions towards Bruce’s manhood, he pulls his fingers out, smearing the drool around Joker’s lips and face, then replaces the fingers with the head of his cock, tapping it into Joker’s closed and sticky lips. Joker begins kissing the head, alternately lapping his tongue along the underside and taking the tip into his mouth to delicately suck and tongue it, staring intensely at Bruce’s face and greedily absorbing any reaction he can get from him. Bruce finds himself feeling all at once too sensitive and like he could exist in that moment in ecstasy forever.

Joker either wasn’t lying about his sexual escapades, or he was an absolute natural at this.

_ But who’d be stupid enough to sleep with the Joker? _

Bruce almost has to laugh at himself.

He begins pushing in agonizingly slowly, past those scarred purple lips and sharp teeth, letting Joker (and frankly, himself) get used to the feeling before rocking his hips in and out shallowly a few times. When Joker looks up at him expectantly, he takes it as his cue. 

Threading one hand tightly into his damp green curls and cupping the back of his neck with the other, he begins thrusting deeper, enjoying the feeling of Joker's tongue and throat struggling to accommodate the unfamiliar intruder. He keeps at it, pushing deeper and deeper until Joker begins gagging. Every time he pulls back all the way Joker coughs up more saliva, beginning to openly drool as his eyes wet with the strain. After a few more aggressive thrusts he makes it all the way to the hilt, triumphant at pushing past the final hurdle and feeling Joker's throat clamping tightly around him. The smaller man's body begins struggling to breathe in defiance of his own desires, but he makes no move to fight Bruce off.

Bruce keeps completely still for a long moment, just enjoying the tightness around him, lightheaded with pleasure and marvelling at the clown’s willing submission to his violent subjugation at the Bat’s hand. He looks down at Joker, his spidery fingers maintaining an obedient death grip on his thighs even as his eyes register mild panic, pointy nose buried in his crotch. Tears are rolling down his cheeks and mixing with the blood from his cuts to form pink-red rivulets, streaking his white face with abstract patterns.

He looks exquisite.

Bruce only pulls out when Joker's eyes start to lose focus again from the lack of oxygen. The pale man slumps into Bruce’s knees. Retching and gasping, Joker coughs up a torrent of sticky saliva as he tries to catch his breath, before Bruce yanks his head up and forces himself back in. He thrusts deep into the slick wetness of his throat with abandon, holding his head completely still while setting a punishing rhythm. He looks down to see Joker staring up at him, wild-eyed with miserable desire, all lewd gagging sounds as Batman abuses his body, and he groans.

"You're doing so well, Joker, you're taking it so perfectly. You're so _fucking_ _beautiful_ ," he breathes, halfway between Batman and Bruce's voice, feeling deliriously honest for a brief moment.

At the last word, he feels the body beneath him stiffen, he looks down to see Joker's eyes rolling back and his hips begin shuddering, cock visibly throbbing against the material of his pants, entirely untouched by his hands.

All of it, for him and him alone.

He loses it at the sight, giving a few more savage thrusts before shoving himself down the Joker's narrow throat a final time, loudly growling as he comes hard, pouring everything he has into him- the violence, rage, and confusion he feels all spilled into the other man. He pulls out carefully, staggering back slightly from the intensity. Joker collapses, face hitting the ground with a thud, body helplessly convulsing as he tries to cough, breathe, spit and swallow all at the same time, weak and boneless from his own orgasm.

Bruce remains hunched over him for a long moment, hands on the hood of the Batmobile. He's staring down at Joker while they both catch their breath, committing the sight to memory. He's covered with mud, blood, come and spit, his soaked shirt clinging to his body and emphasizing his malnourished, bony frame. He'd never seen him quite so debauched. 

(It's incredible.)

He's already thinking about doing it again.

(It's terrifying.)

Not only was Joker willing to go with whatever Batman demanded of him, he was willing to beg him for it. Bruce feels the thrill of that knowledge rush through him again. And- 

Joker liked to be praised. It was almost charming.

Somehow, Bruce feels he could accommodate that- seeing as he'd meant every single word that had come out of his mouth. Another thing to file away and never confront.

As Bruce recovers, another idea floats to the forefront of his brain.

He leans down next to Joker, who’s curling into himself, still panting on the wet ground, looking dazed and in another world.

"Let's make a deal."

  
  



End file.
